


What Happens in Big Cities

by Mab (Mab_Browne)



Series: Small Town Start [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Illustrated, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mab_Browne/pseuds/Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has made it to Cascade - but Blair's life hasn't stood still in the meantime.  Illustrations by Helvetica4ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Big Cities

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story, along with _What Happens in Small Towns_ for Moonridge 2010, as a sequel to _What You Ought, What You Need_ , and also as my contribution to the TS Big Bang. Thank you to the Moonridge donors, to Knitty Woman for the beta, and also to Briarwood/Morgan for organising the Big Bang. Many thanks to Helvetica who provided the beautiful art that accompanies this story as her Big Bang contribution.
> 
> This story references the death of a small child by cot death, but not in any graphic nature.
> 
> Helvetica is now on AO3, and her profile includes a tumblr which hosts larger versions of some of the art on AO3.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/he1vetica4ever/pseuds/he1vetica4ever

Blair would probably call it karma or destiny or fate that Jim lucked into a job working on renovating one of the buildings on the campus of Rainier University. Jim wasn't so inclined to believe in any of those things, preferring instead to note that coincidences happened.

He'd been in Cascade two weeks, and he hadn't contacted Blair. Jim had organised a partly furnished room for himself, in a building with shared facilities and noisy pipes. But the space was his own, and he set it up how he wanted it. The walls might as well have been veils, however. Jim did find that hard to deal with, and he cursed his overactive senses and didn't look his neighbours in the face in the mornings. They didn't need to know that he knew who had sex, who fought over money, who smoked weed, any more than he did. Work was a cakewalk by comparison. He could disappear into the noise of ripping out walls, and sawing and fitting sheetrock, and the loud crack of nail guns, in a way that was almost the same as ignoring it. But he hadn't contacted Blair.

He did find himself looking around the campus when he came in to work, though. The renovation was being carried out in an administration building that was a pleasant Victorian shell around a nest of charmless fifties alterations, which were in their turn being consigned to the local landfill. Rainier was mainly a liberal arts college, with a decent social sciences department and a small, but surprisingly prestigious, engineering school. The hum of energy and affluence was very different from the little town Jim had left behind, and there were various reminders, like the rainbow flag hanging in the window of the small tower block that housed the main university administration, that the big city was more relaxed about some things than a small town.

There was a rise that looked down a slope towards the man-made lagoon and sports field at Rainier, with car parking just on the other side of it, and the second day that he'd been at work Jim had stared down that rise, his hands unconsciously fingering the flannel of his work shirt, looking for a familiar face. He'd found it, a good distance away: Blair Sandburg, with his hair trimmed a little shorter than last Jim had seen it but still long enough and luxuriant enough to satisfy Naomi's wildest hippie fantasies. He'd been dressed in jeans and a colourful tee shirt and a navy blue coat and he had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and an adoring looking and handsome young man draped over the other.

Jim had stared for a few moments, waiting for the coldness in his stomach to do something - melt, disappear, just go away damn it, because Jim was behaving like a jerk. He knew that. Spying. Being stupidly resentful that Blair wasn't pining away and 'saving' himself for Jim when Jim had made it clear that he couldn't give Blair what he wanted and then sent him on his way to Cascade. All of it jerk behaviour, and Jim had acknowledged that in himself and gone to work and found it was one of those days that he needed to wear his gloves and his goggles, because the allergies were worse than the irritation of wearing the gear.

Two weeks in Cascade, and Jim needed to get off his ass, and contact Blair, and he acknowledged that he would do that, because anything else was unthinkable, but he needed another day or two to get over himself first. Blair would probably call it karma or destiny or fate that, having made that promise to himself, Blair took it all out of Jim's hands with a short sharp knock on the door.

"Hey, Jim. It's me."

Of course it was. Who else would it be on a Saturday morning when Jim hadn't even eaten yet? At least he was dressed as he went to open the door. Blair was right about it being him: Jim got the full Sandburg experience of long, untrammelled hair, two sparkling hoops in his left ear, and a camel coloured embroidered jacket that had obviously been bought from some store or market that sold fair trade coffee and crystals rather than the local J C Penney. All these things came with the added bonus of an irritated expression.

"Sandburg," Jim said. He'd been holding off, but now he couldn't help grinning like a fool.

Blair sauntered in, with a gently musical, "Hel-loo, asshole." Jim could feel the irritation on his own face at this greeting - helped along by guilt, and the buried anxiety about what he'd started by choosing to come to Cascade. "God, you son of a bitch, why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Blair demanded.

With that, Jim found himself hugged, and hugged hard. He bent his head and shut his eyes, and held tight, before he permitted himself one deep, _aware_ inhalation of scent and then untangled himself. It was one thing to know that his best friend was gay and maybe in love with him when Jim was married to Carolyn and trying to make it work. It was one thing to contemplate what exactly Blair might want from him when the pair of them were in two entirely different locations. It was another thing entirely when the two of them had apparently nearly welded their bodies together.

Jim's hands let go of Blair's shoulders as he made his excuses. "I was going to contact you. But there you go, ahead of the curve again." Blair looked good, Jim thought. He looked happy, despite being pissed off at Jim. But why shouldn't he be happy? He was an intelligent young man, taking an opportunity he'd dreamed of for years. He was a beautiful young man who was almost certainly getting laid on a regular basis.

"Yeah, there I go." Blair's grin was incandescent now that he'd delivered his scolding. His gaze travelled around the small living space. "This place is a shithole. You know that, right?"

Jim shook his head, amused at Blair's mercurial shift from rebuke to interior decoration advice. "It's cheap, and I don't have to share it with anyone. It'll do for a start. So how'd you find me?"

Blair turned around, exasperation showing again, even though the smile was still there too. "I had the urge to call my old buddy, Jim Ellison, so I tried your number. Then I tried Valerie and Mike's number, and that was informative," Blair's fingers waggled in air quotes at 'informative', "but not about your whereabouts." His eyes widened in renewed exasperation at Jim's unannounced presence in Cascade. "So then I went for the big guns, and I called your mother. Because I never forget who the good contacts are, man. Never."

"You have good timing," Jim said. "Mom can't have had my address more than a couple of days."

"Yeah," Blair said. "Maybe my sense of timing's improved at that." Blair pushed some hair back. There was a touch of colour in his face that Jim decided not to notice. "So. Hey. Jim Ellison in Cascade. How's it treating you so far?"

"You can see the palace I'm living in for yourself, Chief."

"God, I've missed hearing that nickname."

Jim shrugged. "I'll keep working it into the conversation."

Blair shook his head, grinning. "You have work yet?"

"Construction. It's what I've gotten used to." Jim paused. "I'm doing a refit in one of the old buildings at Rainier."

That information saw Blair's eyebrows rise. "Huh. You don't say? There's enough building going on in this city, that's for sure." He stared at Jim a little more. Jim could feel his jaw grind out of sheer damn nervousness, before Blair started talking again. "Can I treat you to breakfast? We can catch up. Think of it as an early housewarming present, until I work out what'll fit with your monk-like approach to interior decoration."

It was on the tip of Jim's tongue to enquire whether the boyfriend would object, but he stopped himself in time. There was no need to give that away.

"A monk I'm not, but breakfast sounds good. Let me grab my wallet. What's it like outside?"

"A jacket would be a good idea. The wind's a little sharp even if the sun is making a rare guest appearance."

"Okay." Jim picked up a jacket and his wallet and keys, and ushered Blair out of the room, shutting the door on his sparse belongings.

"I've heard about this place called Wonderburger," Jim said. "If you want a suggestion."

Blair had missed an old nickname. Jim had missed watching that mobile face twist itself into emotional semaphore: amusement, exasperation, simple joy at the teasing. "Oh, come on. Wonderburger? Of the BagelBacon'n'Egg? You have to be kidding me."

"Nope, don't believe I am." They headed outside, and down the block. "And there's the sweetheart," Jim said, running a hand over the paintwork of the old pick-up. "Is it still a squirrel's nest in the cab?"

"Get in and find out," Blair shot back across the hood, before climbing in and leaning across the seat to unlock the door for Jim. "After I shift the books for you." He suited actions to words, dragging the items spread across the seat into a pile in the middle that Jim judged would slide off the first time that Blair pressed the brakes.

"I see you're still living up to the high standards that Alice taught you." Jim kicked an empty disposable coffee cup from under foot. Instead of a dream-catcher, there was some sort of doll, handmade and garish, hanging from the mirror.

"I looked after Alice's space the way that I ought to, but the truck's always been mine."

Blair looked across at Jim then, with an expression that made Jim stare straight ahead and say, "Tell me about life in the big city, Sandburg. Is it everything it's cracked up to be?"

Blair put the truck in gear, before he pulled out. "It has its moments. I'm free for the morning." He grimaced. Although I'm starting part-time work next weekend, gotta keep body and soul together somehow. How about I show you the sights after we eat? I know this traditional-style diner...."

"Wonderburger," Jim said, in a tone that brooked no debate.

"Or there's a cute little patisserie down Prospect. It's close to the West Harbour, and we could go on to this interesting mall/wharf/ _thing_ down there. Performers, and crafts. They had a fire-eater once. It's cool."

"Sandburg...."

"Trust me, man."

Jim gave up. And besides, Blair was right. The coffee at Collette's was pretty good and they did savoury croissants that were perfectly and deliciously flaky. The mall/wharf/ _thing_ was an interesting place to meander around, and there was a stunning view across the sound to the business district and its towers on the east side.

"I have to introduce you to Tony," Blair said, completely casual except for the quick, assessing sideways glance. "We're together. He's fun."

It was just as well that Jim already knew that this was coming. He could be completely casual in his turn. "Congratulations, Chief. You guys have fun talking about - anthropology?" Jim leered in what he hoped was the right sort of trash-talking, guy manner.

"Shit no!" Blair's smile was bright. "He's an engineering student. Masters." His hand made some gesture that might have been meant to indicate towers or bridges, or else was simply obscurely obscene.

"Ah," Jim said, as if the wisdom of the ages had just been imparted. " _Engineering_."

Blair burst out laughing, and then punched Jim on the shoulder. "Oh yeah. I missed the Ellison ability to put about one million meanings into one word."

"As opposed to your ability to use one million words and still leave everyone confused as hell?"

"Well, actually," Blair drawled, "most people seem to understand me pretty well. I don't know why you have so much trouble."

Jim clutched his hand over his heart. "Ouch. Well, I'm just the dumb carpenter, Chief. You're the academic."

"I remember your GPA. And the way you used to borrow books from me. Playing the dumb card is kind of unconvincing."

And just like that, Jim's mood changed. "I'm not seeing much evidence of intelligence in my life so far, Chief."

Blair's face softened. "Hey. Don't be so hard on your self. You make it sound like you're forty and balding and life has passed you by; and none of that is true."

The rush of the wind and the cries of the seagulls were suddenly loud in Jim's ears. He ducked his head, and then chuckled. "Thank you, oh mighty guru."

Blair leaned against the wooden railing, and looked out over the harbour. The wind blew his hair back in a mass, but a few individual strands were caught in their own breeze, waving in separate tendrils.

"It's good to see you again, Jim. Really good. And I'm sorry that things didn't work out with you and Carolyn."

Jim wondered if Blair was as sorry as he might have been pre-boyfriend, and shrugged. Blair had offered, and he'd said no, and somehow they were still friends, which Jim was grateful for. "Thanks. I guess I should wish you and Tony better luck than we had."

Maybe it was the brisk wind putting the colour in Blair's face. "Hey man. I'm too young to be married off just like that. Tony and I are good friends, but we're not exclusive or anything."

"Horndog," Jim said evenly. He wondered what exactly 'not exclusive' meant since apparently Tony didn't have any claims to being the love of Blair's life. "At least you can't knock each other up," he said feelingly.

"True, although I guess I'm more likely to be the one holding the baby shower if we could." Oh, that was a 'gotcha' moment and Blair's raised eyebrow and challenging smile showed that he knew it. An appalled flush of heat ran through Jim, just behind the vision of Blair in bed with handsome Tony, which was something he'd been trying not to think about. Thanks for way too much information, Chief, he thought.

"Christ, Sandburg. My ears!" Jim cuffed Blair across the back of his head, which relieved some of the mix of feeling in his chest. "You owe me a beer for putting that in my head."

Blair's face was clear and relaxed, and Jim had the feeling that he'd passed some sort of test. "No way. I bought you breakfast when I'm a poor starving student. Which means that you owe me a beer since you actually have a job."

"Oh for... Fine. I'll buy you a beer. And maybe I should put a few bucks aside for the future baby shower as well."

"I use protection," Blair said impishly.

So did I, Jim thought, and look where it got me.

***

"Hey! Jim!" Jim turned from his survey of the lagoon where a group of young men and women in Rainier shirts were paddling canoes, and looked back towards the voice; Blair, and a couple of friends. Tony, of course, and a young woman of a nearly flaxen blondness which Jim could see was natural, and which contrasted blindingly with her black clothes and raccoon eye make-up.

"Lisa and I are going on to an anthro tutorial, later," Blair said as they drew nearer. "Lisa Barry, Jim Ellison, Jim, Lisa. Thanks for grabbing us a bench, man." Courtesies done, Blair sat himself on one side of the table and fished a plastic container out of his backpack, which held some sort of rice salad. Lisa sat on the opposite side, and Tony perched on the table itself, long legs down by Lisa, his body angled towards Blair's right side. Jim sat on Blair's left, and ignored Blair's pointed finger and exclamation of "Heart attack city!" over Jim's sandwich.

"I hope that we didn't screw up your wheel-barrow pushing schedule," Tony said pleasantly. His dark hair flopped down over his forehead, shadowing his eyes.

Jim's close-cut hair didn't allow that luxury but he smiled back, and hoped that it reached his eyes. "So long as we get paid, I guess we can let you guys wander around."

Blair was looking between the two of them. "Bricks?" He turned to Tony. "What have you been up to this morning?"

Tony smiled. "Leading the CE babies in a little exercise about loadings, surprises and expecting the vagaries of human nature in nice tidy architectural problems," he said. Jim reckoned there was a good loading of condescension in his voice.

Blair swallowed a mouthful of his rice salad. "Someone enlighten me, huh?"

Jim knew the story, but he gestured towards Tony, who took up the explanation. "They're gutting the old Romance languages building, right? And they've nearly finished taking out the partitions when someone discovers that in the last refit however many years ago, when they took the chimneys down, that someone couldn't be bothered totin' that load - so they just laid all the bricks, and I mean _all_ the bricks, on a false floor in one of the attics. Found entirely by accident. And Professor Broucek decides that this is a great opportunity for the first year babies to get a few engineering life lessons, and work out a few equations."

"Babies?" Lisa enquired sweetly.

Tony's hands flourished in satirical apology. "Freshmen. First years. Jeez."

Jim shrugged. "It didn't take that much time out of the morning."

"Found entirely by accident? What does that mean?" Blair's gaze flicked between Tony and Jim, before he grinned. "Was someone looking for a nice quiet place to smoke their lunchtime joint or something?"

"Who knows? The foreman there - Costello?" Jim nodded an affirmative, "he just said that one of the guys noticed something hinky, and there ya go. A bunch of students mingling with the blue collar types and getting a taste of that working class sensibility." Jim caught the look in his eyes and saw mockery. He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed on it with unnecessary energy.

Jim could feel a hint of heat from Blair's skin. "Give it a rest, Tone."

"Something up?" Jim blandly enquired.

"Blair's counter-culture cred has been impugned."

"That is not what I said," Blair replied. "I'm just kind of confused as to what the hell Professor Stoddard's comment meant, that's all."

Lisa piped up. "You got an A, Blair, the first one that Stoddard's handed out in three years. Whatever he meant, I doubt it was anything bad."

Jim eyed the other three, feeling decidedly in the dark. "You want to explain here, Chief?"

Blair stabbed a piece of celery with more vindictiveness than an innocent vegetable deserved. "Maybe it's stupid of me. But I think I'll talk to him about it anyway."

Tony slapped his palm over his face. "Oh for fuck's sake, Blair. You got an A! An A that goes to towards your final evaluation. And if Stoddard thinks that you brought 'an interesting blue-collar sensibility' to whatever the hell soft science you boys squish around in the anthro department, then what the hell does it matter?"

Blair's shoulders were hunched. "Thank you for that incisive summary," Blair said, looking at Jim, his hands gesturing towards Tony. "Fine. You guys are right. I'm making a big deal out of nothing. I have no right to see anything potentially condescending about that remark at all."

"You drove semis for years, Blair," Tony continued. "Drove the interstate, drank that crappy truck-stop coffee. Maybe it was a compliment. Maybe that blue collar sensibility of yours is a breath of fresh air in these middle class liberal halls of academe. What do you think, Jim?"

Jim's mouth had just closed around another big mouthful of sandwich; he gestured that his mouth was full, and chewed, while Blair looked at him as if his opinion mattered. Jim felt like a complete dork. "I wouldn't know what some college professor thinks is a compliment or not," he said roughly, when his mouth was finally empty. "But if Blair wants to talk about it then why shouldn't he? Isn't that the point of higher education? Discourse?" He rounded 'discourse' in his mouth, mockery right back at Tony, who'd had no friendly motivation in seeking Jim's comment. That much he was sure of. "I'd better get back to my blue collar work. You guys were late today."

He stood up from the bench, and brushed down the front of his shirt, feeling out of place in his flannel and jeans. Sure, there were plenty of grunge kids who aped the working man look on Rainier's campus, but as often as not their shirts flapped loosely in the breeze, unlike Jim's, which was tucked tidily into his jeans to be out of the way when he worked. They didn't have the calluses that Jim had on his hands, or the blackened nail on his right pinkie where that idiot Johansen had jammed the framing they were fitting.

"See you later, Chief. Nice to meet you," he said to Lisa. Tony he ignored.

Blair lifted a hand in farewell salute. "Yeah, see you, Jim. Sunday?"

"Yeah. Sunday." Jim walked away. Lisa was asking something about lecture notes, and Blair was hunting through his backpack. He could tell all that with his ears, but he turned and looked back when he was on the edge of the rise. Tony was looking back towards Jim, not aware that Jim could see him, before he turned his eyes back on Blair and scrambled off the table to sit opposite him.

"What, _Tone_?" Jim muttered. "Worried about Sandburg getting caught up in that blue collar sensibility?" He felt vaguely depressed. The lift that he'd had from Marty Costello's praise, from Johansen's 'Holy shit!' when he'd poked his head through the hole that Jim had, on his own initiative, knocked in the wall upstairs - that was gone. There wasn't much there in common with Blair's academic aspirations, with the tie-dyed t-shirt he wore and the rainbow pin that decorated Blair's jacket lapel. Blair wouldn't have worn that pin when he was driving up the interstates and drinking that crappy truck-stop coffee, couldn't have worn it.

But when Jim told Blair the full story over eggs and hash browns on Sunday, about how the crackle and pop noises of the building had driven him to investigation, Blair's fascination and approval gave him that lift right back again.

"Oh, that is so cool," Blair declared, carefully stacking hash browns on his fork. "Pass the coffee pot, man." The hash browns made their final journey from fork to mouth.

"If you say so." Jim poured out some coffee.

"Yeah, I do say so. I mean, hell, James, you have issues, you know what I mean?" Jim's mood swooped down again. Time with Blair seemed to be an emotional rollercoaster these days; Jim couldn't settle, and he didn't like it.

"We all have issues. I seem to recall you being all bent out of shape by your teacher talking about your blue collar background."

"Sensibility," Blair said, coffee cup nearly at his mouth. "And Professor Stoddard and I have that all dealt with now." He grinned. "As a matter of fact, he's told me that I'm going to be invited to study for an Honours degree."

He looked happy, and Jim said, "Congratulations," and meant it.

"Thanks. I'm pretty much ecstatic over it, I have to admit. Said ecstasy relates to my issues, which I at least have a handle on, whereas I'm never sure if you have a handle on _your_ issues."

The coffee curdled in Jim's stomach. "Meaning?"

"Your senses, Jim." Blair's look was knowing, said without words, 'yeah, sure, buddy. Just one _issue_ at a time.' "Look, tell me. How well do you think I ever fitted in back in our little town?"

Jim shrugged. "Alice and Gray thought you fitted with them."

"Oh, now that's tactful. I was the weird kid, you know that. Which was fine, because I was being me, as opposed to someone else's idea of what I ought to be, and Alice and Gray weren't exactly the usual small town deal. So, no problem. But people are social - we need to be part of something, and Professor Stoddard's comment pinged me because it implied that I was outside of something that I wanted to be on the inside of. You with me?"

"I think that my meagre intellect can cope with the argument so far, Chief."

Blair set a fork full of food to mopping up the egg yolk on his plate. "Never doubted it. My point is that my entirely not meagre intellect figured out why I had the issue with Professor Stoddard's comment. But my not at all meagre intellect cannot figure out why you're so damn uncomfortable with the senses."

"They're nothing special. And they cost me something important, so why should I be that impressed with them?"

"You don't let go of stuff, do you?" Blair's stare was suddenly penetrating.

"Part of my charm," Jim said, and then took a hurried sip of coffee. That had sounded unexpectedly like flirtation rather than distraction.

"Yeah, and every god and goddess in humanity's broad pantheons knows that I'm susceptible." Blair looked both rueful and amused. "But even before the army - you were pretty iffy about them, and I never could figure out why."

."Oh for - look, Sandburg. Put the psychology stuff away, will you?"

Blair tilted his head sideways, as if considering his options, before he said, "Okay. But one day, all will be revealed!" Blair's hands soared into a 'hey presto' gesture.

"You tell yourself that. You going to finish those fries?"

"Have them." Blair pushed his plate over.

"An honours degree, huh?"

"Yeah." Blair was delightedly smug.

"That's great. Really. You wanted this for a long time." One of them might as well have something that they'd wanted, and Jim had always had a weird soft spot for smug on Blair.

Blair's smugness turned to an unexpected shyness as he looked at Jim. "Yeah, it really, really is great. Thanks."

***

Jim was lying on his bed when the phone went, and he grabbed the receiver without turning his head.

"Ellison."

It was Blair, in chatty, cheery mode. "Hey. Jim. How are you, man?"

"I'm okay."

"I'm extending an invitation. Tomorrow night, I think that you and I should head out into the wilds of urban Cascade and try a little bar-hopping. Exploration. What do you think?"

Jim blinked, and kept staring at the ceiling, which was blurry right now, and had been for a while. He cleared his throat.

"That's some offer you're making there, Chief. Thanks. But I don't think so."

"No problemo. I'll bring some beer with me, and we can sit around in front of the tv, instead. You, me, beer. A match made in heaven."

"I don't - "

"Oh, come on, Jim."

"You're whining, Sandburg." Jim's voice was rough, but Blair either didn't notice, or simply pretended not to notice.

"I am not whining. I'm offering free beer and I'm being rejected. I'm hurt."

Jim shut his eyes for a moment and grinned. "I'd have thought you'd be hardened to rejection by now," he said, and then opened his eyes wide. Had he really just said that to Blair? He knew he was out of it tonight, but that was shading out of mean and into cruel.

Blair didn't miss a beat, whatever Jim's misgivings. "I am never rejected, man. Never." Except maybe just once. "My conquests are fucking legendary." Blair's voice was affectedly indignant, a big, fat tease. "And a good friend would help me drink my beer to celebrate my legendary status. So spring-clean your place and get in some food because I am coming around tomorrow night. Seven."

Jim had to clear his throat again. "Okay. Sure. Seven."

"Okay." Blair's voice dropped, suddenly hesitant. "Look, never mind tomorrow. I could come around tonight, right now. If you wanted."

"Tomorrow is fine, Chief. Tomorrow is great."

There was a pause, silent except for the sound of Blair breathing at the other end of the phone line. "Okay. Take care, Jim."

"Yeah, sure." Jim hung up the phone, just as blindly as when he'd picked it up. Then he patted the photo that was sitting in his pocket, with JJ's image turned inward to his chest, to his heart, and swallowed hard. One year ago today, and tomorrow Blair was going to bring himself - and beer.

 

***

  
Jim would like to claim that sitting in an auditorium at Rainier waiting on a guest lecturer to begin his speech on urban gay history through the ages, however that was expressed in academic language, was something that normally he'd be as likely to willingly undergo as root canal work. But 'normal' included a persuasive Blair Sandburg, and here Jim was, sitting next to Blair amid a group of friends and fellow students who were also here courtesy of Blair's persuasive tongue and organisational capacity.

Blair was apparently surprised by how many people had taken up his suggestion. "Hey, it's a party," he said, as yet another figure scouted up and down the aisles to join the group of chattering young people.

"Yeah, babe, you know how to throw them," Tony said, without any of his usual snideness. That twisted something in Jim. He dealt with Tony much better when he could assume that he didn't appreciate Blair. When Tony leaned over the back of his seat to talk to someone, Jim fumbled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, a brochure with information that Jim had been mulling over for a while now.

"I wanted to show you this. See what you think." He handed the brochure to Blair and watched Blair's eyes scan quickly over it.

"Hey. Great. So construction isn't doing it for you anymore?"

Jim made a noncommittal gesture with one hand. "It's not that I dislike it, but it's something I just stumbled into. I figured it was time to get a grip, think about what I really wanted to do." What he'd really wanted to do was the military, and it had taken a long time to lay the corpse of that dream to rest. "And I..." He didn't want to sound pompous. Part of the army dream had been adrenalin and playing toy soldiers, but Jim had always been aware of the idea of service. Being in The Service. "I figured this would be useful."

"Yeah, I can see that, it's a beautiful idea." Blair's voice became sly. "And there's driving the ambulance too, sirens blazing. I can just see you now." Jim's hands clenched, and then relaxed. He thought of JJ - of Carolyn in the back seat of the car, her frantic face mottled red and white as she puffed gentle, useless breaths into their baby while Jim single-mindedly concentrated on reaching the hospital. It wasn't Blair's fault that he couldn't see into Jim's head.

"Jeez, Sandburg, you make me sound like some sort of an adrenalin junkie."

"You, me, bike. Ring a bell? Everyone needs a little rush, man. If you get it in something constructive, all the better, right?" Blair's finger ran under a particular line of print. "And this grant would pay a lot of the costs. Do you think you'll get it?"

Jim shrugged. "I'm honourably discharged. I'm eligible. I've got an interview next Wednesday."

Blair's mouth opened in pleased astonishment. "What time? I'll send you good vibes."

"Good vibes for what?" Tony asked, leaning forward.

"Jim's looking at getting EMT certification. Isn't that a cool idea?"

"Copacetic," Tony said with mild sarcasm, but then his gaze shifted to the stage, where a tall, plump man had stepped forward.

"That's Dean Chalmers," Blair muttered into Jim's ear, as the audience quieted. "Looks like it's show time."

Chalmers made his introductory speech, there was a short burst of polite applause, and George Friedan stepped up to the podium. He was trim with his short grey hair and neatly trimmed beard - the perfect picture of a quietly-spoken academic, except for the flamboyant clothes. Jim supposed that gay academics could get away with plum-coloured velvet sports coats in their late middle-age.

Jim looked sideways at Blair sitting beside him. Blair's full attention was on Friedan, and yes, Jim granted that the guy was an arresting speaker once he got going. But Jim still couldn't quite get over the fact that he was here at all. The last time he'd sat in a group of people like this it was because Carolyn's sister had been selling tickets for the local high school fundraiser - a fashion show of all the things guaranteed to send Jim screaming into the night. But he'd sat next to Carolyn, then seven months pregnant, and watched awkward teenage girls live out their modelling fantasies, and felt a lot more out of place than he did sitting here next to Blair Sandburg while some professor talked about molly houses.

And then Tony nudged Blair's knee with his own at an anecdote that made the audience chuckle, and Jim caught the tail-end of the smile that Blair sent Tony in return. He reached across and lifted the brochure out of Blair's hand where it still rested, and folded it and jammed it into his pocket once more. Then he riveted his eyes to the stage and the speaker, and let Friedan's gentle, precise voice go in one ear and out the other. He was here to get a little culture, after all.

When Friedan was finished, a young woman sitting directly behind Blair leaned over with her hands upon his shoulders and said, "The All-Niter Coffee shop? And dessert?"

Blair tilted back his head and smiled at her. "Sounds good. Tony?"

Tony smiled. He could be rather charming, but he certainly never unleashed it on Jim, who knew full well why. "Sounds great."

"Jim?" Blair's face was bright. "Want to join us? They do amazing pie."

"Yeah, sure." Jim eyed the small core of students who were hanging around in their chairs, sorting out arrangements. "Just don't expect much conversation from me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tony murmured. He probably didn't even expect Jim to able to hear him - there were still plenty of people in the auditorium, and Blair's group especially was starting to get noisy. Blair twisted his head in annoyance and then shrugged his shoulders in apology.

"Okay. Let's get going. Pie!" Blair called out, and the group headed for the exit, scattering in all directions once they were outside in the night air.

"Where'd you park the truck?" Jim asked. Blair gestured, and Jim grinned. "Same way as you, then."

Tony had slung an arm over Blair's shoulders. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Thank you for your confidence. I told you Professor Friedan had a good rep. What did you think, Jim?"

"He was interesting. Kind of flamey, though."

Tony smirked contemptuously, and Blair smacked his hand over his face. Jim thought at first that Blair's exasperation was at least amused, but Blair looked a little grim as his head came up.

"What the hell does that mean? Flamey? As in what - not quite flaming?"

Jim's chin lifted, quite involuntarily. "Jeez, Sandburg, get your panties out of the twist you've got them in, there. I'm not saying that the guy wasn't worth listening to." Because - god. Just because Jim had noticed the guy wasn't exactly going the route of tweed jacket and a pipe.

"I guess Jim doesn't appreciate the good professor's dress sense." Tony's contribution, which was filled with calm, liberal, man of the world mockery for the poor hick. Jim could feel his ears turn hot.

"I figured that Friedman's dress sense was just fine. Hell, I wish I knew where to find a coat like that." Jim tried to imagine Blair in a purple velvet jacket and realised that it wasn't so very hard. "And aside from the flameyness, how did you find the play, Mrs Lincoln? Given that this guy is a world authority in his subject?"

Jim had found himself in Tony's shoes - attending the lecture hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be, but sullen irritation spoke up. "It was kind of over my head. What do you expect from some guy who works with his hands?"

"Fuck, Jim. Get the chip off your shoulder."

"Nice pun," Jim said tightly. He didn't even know how they'd gotten into this ridiculous argument.

"What?" Blair said. Then his face lit with comprehension and he bared his teeth in frustration, before he came to a dead halt and then ran the car length that was left to get to his truck. It was sitting oddly on the road. Blair reached his vehicle, went down on one knee and swore. "Motherfuckers!" He stood and kicked the front curb-side tyre. It had been slashed. Jim saw gouges in the paintwork too, harsh lines dragged with a key most likely, and one word carved on the hood - fag.

He turned and looked back down the street. Angry voices were raised that he hadn't registered as such because he was too caught up in that stupid quarrel with Blair.

"Sounds like you're not the only one, Chief." Jim jogged down the street and then stopped. He could see perfectly well in the glow of the streetlights, and he counted. At least another five or six vehicles, including an expensive looking BMW. He headed back again to find Blair sitting on the hood of the truck, feet on the bumper, his head in his hands. He lifted it as Jim returned. "Both front tyres. Bastards! Shitty, stupid, bigoted, gutless thing to do."

"Yeah. And they spread themselves around too. There's a BMW that got the same little kiss as sweetheart here."

"A Beamer? Holy shit, that's Dean Chalmers' car. Oh man! Campus security is going to wish that they'd never been born, every one of them, and then they're going to be fired. Probably out of a cannon." Blair slid off his truck, and then banged the abused paintwork with his fist. "Fuckers!"

"What do you want to do, Blair?" Tony asked. "Leave her here and deal with it in the morning?"

"Shit. If I leave it here, I'll probably get a parking fine on top of everything else when 8 o'clock comes round. Damn it!"

Jim watched Blair before he turned his head to look back down the street. The same essential tableau was depicted in several spots - just the players and the props varied.

"I'll give you a lift, Blair," Jim said. "Assuming that the shits didn't get me."

"Yeah, thanks. Can you give Tony a lift too? He came with me."

"Let me check that I've got a ride to offer you." Jim was parked another half a block down, and approached his worn Ford with some nervousness - but it was okay. "That's something at least," he muttered, before he headed back towards Blair and Tony once more. Tony was leaning against Blair's truck, arms crossed against his chest. Blair was pacing, his hands clenched in front of him and shaking with drumbeat emphasis as he called down a variety of historical, agonising punishments on the vandals.

Tony lifted an eyebrow at Jim. "He's in a hanging judge mood. It's always the pacifist, new age guys."

"Not in the mood, Tone."

"And he always calls me Tone when he's really pissed."

"He's got reason to be." Jim daydreamed for a moment; wondered that if his hyperactive senses were all that instead of a giant pain in his ass, whether or not he could track down whoever was responsible; sniff them and track them to their frat house lairs and punch them out for putting that wounded, furious expression on Blair's face. "Come on, Chief. You can deal with this in the morning. You're going to have think about new tyres anyway." Never mind the paintwork. Jim was already working out the approach he'd make to one of the guys on his crew who also did custom car work. If nothing else, he might let them borrow his gear and his workshop.

"I'm going to have to think about not eating is what I'm going to have to do. I've got insurance but the deductible is sky-high."

"Jim's right, Blair. There's nothing you can do right now." Tony approached Blair, who finally ceased his frenetic movement.

Blair took a deep breath, let it out again; but Jim could see the lines of strain around his mouth. "Okay. Okay." He took one last look at his truck. "Fuck!" he said feelingly, before looking up at Tony. "Sorry. Not much of a fun night out."

"Not your fault. Come on. We'd better go via the All-Niter and tell people what's happening."

"Yeah. There's not going to be much pie in my future, that's for sure."

Tony and Blair piled into the back seat of Jim's car, and he took the detour via the All-Niter, where Tony got out long enough to explain the situation and then came back again. "Home, James."

"Yeah, sure. I live but to serve." Tony chuckled; Blair was unusually quiet.

Jim expected that Blair would go in with Tony when they reached his apartment. Tony clearly expected it too, but Blair excused himself. "No. No, man. I'm still too pissed off. I need my own space tonight."

"Your own space a zillion miles away from the U."

"I know. So I get a ride tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I guess." Jim stared ahead out the windshield for the goodnight kiss, and then Blair climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

"Thanks, Jim. I really appreciate this."

"No problems. And I have an idea for your paintwork. I can't promise anything yet, but I'll check it out and let you know."

Some of Blair's dark mood lifted. "Thanks, man." Jim pulled out onto the road, and Blair sighed. "That was a downer. God. What a bunch of dicks. Why do people do crap like that?"

"I don't know, Chief. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. It's good that they didn't get you. Or Tony for that matter. He was thinking about driving himself. At least I have friends I can tap for transport, right?" Blair smiled, but it was only a shadow of his usual effervescent grin. 'Fag', they'd written across his car. Jim gripped the steering wheel that bit more firmly; pretending that it was the neck of the one of the dickwads involved quieted some of the anger seething inside.

"So hey," Blair continued. "It's especially good that they didn't get you, what with the big interview coming up."

"Yeah."

"It'll go great, Jim."

Jim turned his head briefly to look at Blair. "Because you'll send me good vibes?"

"The best."

"I'll count on it," Jim said, and smiled in relief. At least their quarrel outside the auditorium had been wiped out by the night's small disaster. There was silence for while, broken only by the occasional cleansing breath from the right-hand side of the car.

Jim was nearly pulling up outside Blair's apartment when Blair said, "You know something? I'll bet that an EMT could find a lot of uses for an enhanced sensory ability."

Maybe an EMT could at that, although Jim found the idea set off a deep uneasiness.

"I have to get the grant and get into the training course, first, Sandburg."

"Piece of cake."

Jim wasn't so convinced. "We'll see," he said, and parked his car.

"Yeah. We'll see." Blair's face was quizzically affectionate.

"Try and get some sleep, huh? And if you need any help with the truck tomorrow, you tell me." Jim put out his hand and clasped the back of Blair's neck. His friend's hair was caught in a tail tonight, and the band was stiff against Jim's palm, a contrast to the soft spring of hair. Blair ducked his head, and when he lifted it, there was a light in his eyes that Jim didn't quite recognise until Blair shifted across the seat toward him and kissed him.

Jim could see it coming, like slow motion. He could have drawn back. He could have kept his mouth shut when he felt Blair's tongue sweep across his lips. Instead of withdrawing, he kept his grip on Blair's neck, on the softness and warmth of his hair and his skin, and he kissed back. And when Blair pulled back, Jim followed, distracted by sensation, until a gentle hand on his cheek and the sound of Blair's voice brought him back to himself.

Blair smiled. "Come in with me," he said; but the smile faded at whatever he saw in Jim's face. The response to the kiss had been unthinking impulse. But getting out of his car and following Blair into the little apartment, past his roomies' bedrooms and into Blair's was a step too far.

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered it, and then cleared his throat to speak more clearly. "I'm sorry, Chief. I don't know if I can do this."

Blair dropped his head against the seatback. "Can't do what, Jim? Can't do me? Because I could accept that." He fixed Jim with a stare. "Or can't do flamey?" he flung. "Can't do some dickhead screwing up your paintwork with shitty words?"

Jim winced.

"I guess I got my hopes up when you turned up in Cascade."

"Sandburg.... I just don't know! God." Jim pinched hard at the bridge of his nose. "And what about Tony?" Blair opened his mouth, and Jim said bitterly, "Yeah, I know. You're not exclusive. But I don't do that sort of crap, never mind anything else."

Blair took another deep breath. Jim could get to really hate that huff of breath. "First, I come on to you when you're involved, and then I come on to you when I'm involved. You're not going to have much of an opinion left of me, are you?"

"Hey." Jim hated that tone in Blair's voice, hated it when Blair sounded down and defeated. He took Blair's hand in his and curled his fingers around hard, lifted their clasped hands into the air between them. "There were a couple of weeks way back in school when I wondered why I kept stumbling over this mouthy kid who perpetually talked himself into trouble, but overall, I've always had a pretty good opinion of you. That's not going to change."

Blair's lids dropped, partly shuttering his eyes. He stared at the grip of their hands, and it occurred to Jim that he and Blair could lose each other over this. Blair could get sick of the unrequited love thing. Jim could decide that he really couldn't do this, and they could just avoid each other for a time that got longer and deeper, like sailing out over the ocean from the coast. There came a time when it was easier to make landfall on that other faraway shore than to turn back.

Jim knew that. How many years was it since he and his father and brother had talked to each other? But not Blair. God, not Blair. His hand tightened.

"Tell me, Jim. Tell me if you can't stand the too damn pushy crap, okay?" Blair gently pulled his hand away, trying to claim his freedom.

"I like you pushy." Jim felt his heart start beating harder in his chest, because that felt dangerously close to some sort of declaration, and Blair had every right to be pissed over mixed messages. Reluctantly, he let go.

"Okay." Blair's eyes were troubled, but he looked Jim in the face now. "Okay. I'll let you know if I need a hand with the truck. And thanks."

"It's no trouble, Chief. See you."

Blair was out of the car, and he lifted his hand in a goodbye gesture, before he shut the door and headed for his apartment, his stride jerky with energy. Jim watched and then left, his arms shaky with reaction. He was getting closer to making a decision, letting Blair be pushy one more time, but he wasn't quite ready to do any pushing of his own. Not quite.

***

Jim spoke to Arty Ventura about Blair's truck, and that was two Sunday afternoons with all three of them working together, some money paid to Arty by Blair, and two cases of beer delivered, paid for by Jim; Blair's truck was still marred by primer patches while he tried to scrape the money together for work that had a hope in hell of matching the existing paintwork.

Arty had his doubts about university students, but he advised Jim that Sandburg was a weird little fucker but okay. Jim managed not to get in Arty's face over his assessment of Blair, and drove home smugly proud of his self-restraint.

The EMT course interview went well. It went really well, and a month after the vandalism at Rainier, Jim received his official confirmation letter, and the list of textbooks and the confirmation of the grant that would pay his course costs and the papers for the student loan that he'd still need to pay for his living expenses. He tried calling Blair to share the mix of glee and trepidation that was bubbling in his chest, but Blair's female roomie, Sharna, told him Blair was out.

"Okay. Thanks," Jim told her, trying to ignore his disappointment. It just meant that he'd have to wait until tomorrow to tell Blair the news, and that would be fine because tomorrow was a Saturday. They could maybe go out for brunch and celebrate. Hell, Jim would even accommodate Tony's presence if he had to.

Jim was asleep when the shrill persistence of the phone dragged him out of a heavy sleep. He pulled up the mask he wore (the curtains at his window didn't block the light from across the street) and checked the time. 3:38 a.m. His hand flailed for the receiver. "Yes!" he demanded, hoping like hell that it wasn't Rich or his mother.

"Fuck you, you asshole." The voice was blurred with alcohol. "Just fuck you! You couldn't fucking leave him alone, could you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jim muttered, and slammed the receiver down. "Fuck you too." He stared at his ceiling. He was pissed off and wide awake, and when the phone went again he picked it up and snarled with heavy sarcasm, "Hey, sport? Try an 0900 number next time, huh?" He was about to cut the connection and leave the phone off the hook but he heard his name.

"Christ, I could kill you, Ellison."

"Who the hell is this?" The voice was shaking, shuddering with what sounded like enraged crying, while it spewed out a litany of insults and maudlin self-pity. The penny dropped. "Tony?" Jim said in total disbelief. He simply couldn't imagine Tony, who'd always projected a 'too cool to care' vibe, sounding that unhinged.

"You just couldn't leave it alone, could you, you fucker? You're too fucking straight to lay a hand on him..." there was a gagging sound that made Jim flinch. It sounded like Tony was right on the edge of puking his guts. "Don't want him but don't want anyone else to want him."

Anger and disgust finally overcame stunned surprise and train-wreck curiosity. "Drink some fucking coffee, and get the hell over yourself," Jim snapped into the phone, before ending the call, and turning the phone off for good measure. Then he dropped back onto his mattress and shut his eyes.

Drunken quarrel, or genuine break-up? Had Blair actually said anything at all about Jim, or was an epically wasted Tony savaging an easy target? Jim wrestled with the serious temptation of calling Blair, who might well be still awake after the fight it seemed likely that he and Tony had yelled their way through. And if he was asleep - well, why should Jim be the only one with disturbed rest?

But if he called Blair, what exactly was he going to say? Jim's brows pulled together in a hard, cramping frown. Clearly, if anyone had been dumped, it was Tony. It didn't necessarily have anything to do with Jim. He'd certainly found Tony to be an irritating yuppie wannabe. Maybe the scales had simply fallen from Blair's eyes. Nothing to do with Jim, just Blair seeing that a relationship wasn't working, a full month after Blair had once again kissed Jim, and Jim had asked him, 'what about Tony?'

He rolled over in his bed, restless and irritated and unsure, and suddenly determined to share the wealth of all those feelings when it was a touch more day-lit than it was now. Jim smiled grimly to himself, aware of a small, hard knot of amusement at Tony's drunken tirade. Here he was - the Other Man. "God, Sandburg," he muttered. "Only you."

***

Jim slept in until about eight, and then he woke to the sound of noisy sex on the floor below his. Jeez, honey, he thought, as the woman grew ever more strident, if you want to hit the high notes that much, join the Met, why don't you?

He could live without the wakeup call, not least because despite his annoyance, it was still making him horny as hell. "God damn it!" Jim complained to nobody in particular. He wanted to piss, but unless he also wanted to water the ceiling, he had a problem.

Jim had, when he got right down to it, several problems. The morning wood was just the most urgent one, not the most important. Jim put his hand on his hard-on, and shut his eyes. He needed to go see Blair this morning. That was the plan, formulated last night. It was still the plan. He needed to go see Blair, and do- what? Tease the hell out of Blair about Tony's melt-down, for a start. Jim didn't feel any particular sympathy for 'Tone' at all, and if that made him a class-A son of a bitch, Jim could live with that. Commiserate with Blair? Congratulate him? Kiss him?

Yeah. Why not put his hands all over his dick and think about kissing Blair? It wasn't the first time he'd done it the last few weeks. Think about how Blair felt under his hands, the warmth, the smoothness of Blair's skin, the strength in Blair's arms that first kiss on the Lookout. Jim made the fantasy more explicit. Blair shirtless. Blair naked. Blair with his sweet, full lips wrapped around Jim's dick. And then it was all over, and Jim lay in his bed until his breathing and heart beat quietened, and he didn't have any excuse not to get out of bed and do something that was going to change his life.

It was ten o'clock when he reached Blair's apartment, and Sharna was wide awake. She smiled politely at Jim. "Blair's still asleep. He got in pretty late last night, and then he got out of bed to throw up about 6.30. Perfect alarm clock, you know?"

"I can guess," Jim said, but nothing more, although he gave her one of his better smiles. He liked Sharna. "I think it's time I roused Sleeping Beauty."

"Good luck," Sharna said dryly, and sat down on the sofa with her feet up and a copy of Cosmopolitan in her hands.

Blair was lying on his stomach when Jim poked his head around the door. He was wearing a tank top, and his face was buried beneath an avalanche of hair. He neither looked nor smelled his best. A tangle of blankets reached below Blair's shoulder blades. Jim crouched beside the bed and put his hand on Blair's shoulder, which was heated and mostly bare under the narrow straps of his top. He shook Blair, surprisingly carefully given the nervous tension that ran under Jim's skin. Blair moaned, and opened one unwilling eye.

"Good morning, sunshine." Jim sounded manic, even to himself.

Blair's hand closest the edge of the bed stirred, and shaped itself into a fist with one middle finger extended. "Screw you and the overly cheerful horse you rode in on."

"Come on, Sandburg. Rise and shine."

"Why?"

"We need to celebrate your new status as a single guy." Jim's heart felt like it was blocking his throat. However, he had Blair's full attention now.

"What?" Blair struggled upright.

"Come on, Chief. I got my wake-up call in the wee small hours and here you're dragging the chain when the morning's nearly over."

Blair tried to push the tangled mat of hair away from his face. "Are you talking in code, or what?"

Jim felt a golden, glorious recklessness run through him. "I got a phone call from good old Tone at three-thirty this morning. I can't remember the exact conversation, but I do remember that he said fuck a lot, and that he pretty much blamed me for you dumping him on his skinny ass."

Blair's hands moved to cover his face, and he groaned. "Oh shit. Just shoot me now." His face emerged from behind the barricades. "He didn't."

Jim was standing now, his hip perched against Blair's crappy dresser. "You know, Sandburg, I really think that he did."

"God. I'm sorry, Jim. He had no right to do that, and it was stupid of him." Blair was sitting up in bed now, the covers draped around his waist.

"I guess I'm more interested in whether he guessed right."

Blair looked suddenly wary. "I thought that we'd already established that Tony shouldn't be abusing you for something that's got nothing to do with you."

Heat flushed Jim's skin. "So you breaking up with him had nothing to do with me?"

Blair was looking distinctly shifty. "Tony and I... it was fun, but it wasn't working. That's it. And that's all you need to know, Jim. I'm not playing kiss and tell." He moved to get out of bed, grabbing for a tattered old wool robe. He was half-hard under his boxers. "I need to take a piss. I drank about a gallon of water earlier."

"Before or after you puked?" Jim said heartlessly. The finger was sent his way again, as well as a reproachful expression.

"I also need a shower. Just, make yourself comfortable."

"Sure thing," Jim told him. He stepped right into Blair's space, still filled with nervous impetus, and clasped his hand around Blair's upper arm. "But hurry back, huh?" He got a look of bleary-eyed speculation, before Blair shambled out into the hallway.

Okay, he told himself. Okay. He could do this. This was shit or get off the pot time. He looked around at Blair's room, at the posters for Amnesty International and Greenpeace, the small prints that depicted some sort of tribal art, the books and the papers, the deeply prized laptop bought just before the asshole attack on Blair's truck. There were some photo frames on top of the makeshift book cases - Naomi, Alice and Gray. Jim. There he was, included without fanfare among Blair's family. Jim wanted it to stay that way.

He felt too wired to sit quietly in Blair's bedroom, and he was painfully aware that he could hear the noise of the shower. He realised that he'd lost any sense of what was normal for other people to hear. If he and Blair talked later, fought, had sex - just how much of it was going to be clear as daylight to Sharna and Blair's other roomie? Restlessly, Jim headed for the kitchen.

"So he's alive," Sharna said. She was examining Jim over the top of her magazine, and Jim told himself that any curious glint in her eye was his own paranoia speaking.

"Yeah. Do you mind if I make a fresh batch of coffee?"

"Be my guest."

"The plumbing's kind of loud here," Jim said.

"I don't think the developers paid a lot of money for sound-proofing, that's for sure."

Jim fiddled with coffee. He'd been here often enough that he knew where things were, but maybe something about his bent-down head gave the game away, because Sharna put her magazine down and stood up. She was bright. It was one reason Jim liked her.

"You know something? I think I should go do some shopping."

"Have a good time," Jim said, hoping that his relief didn't show. "Where's the stoner king?"

"Sleeping it off in his room as normal." Sharna's face was slightly pink. "A herd of elephants could have an orgy and I doubt he'd wake up. If you know what I mean."

"Yeah." The kitchen was filled with the scent of the coffee. Jim had smelled better, but it would do.

Sharna headed for her room, and Jim heard her mutter, "So much for my quiet morning at home. God, Blair. I have got to pump you for the secrets of your success." Jim felt a small twinge of guilt, but her face was clear of anything except a pleasant good-bye smile when she emerged. "See you," she said, and was gone.

Blair emerged from the bathroom, draped in the old robe, but without his grubby underclothes. He was shaved and his hair was pulled back into a damp, kinked tail.

"Coffee?" Jim suggested, offering a cup.

"You're a prince." Blair sank into the chair next to Jim.

"How's the head?"

"Not so bad now. I'm clean, semi-hydrated and I took a couple of Advil. And I have caffeine. My cup runneth over." Blair sipped his coffee. "What are you doing here, Jim?"

"Like I said, Chief. Celebrating your single status."

Blair stared at Jim. "Uh-huh. And you'd care why?"

"Figured I'd grab you while we're both still in between relationships."

Blair was still staring, but this stare had evolved into open-mouthed, befuddled astonishment.

"It's a good thing that I know you're smart, Chief, because you look pretty dumb right now."

"I.... Jim, are you for real? Because, it's not that I'm not happy at the idea, actually overwhelmed probably describes it better, but it's... Are you sure?" Blair scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I'm just - kind of surprised."

"Yeah." Jim watched carefully, trying not to feel too sick or stupid. "I'm getting that impression."

"I mean.... What is this? Get me on the rebound or something?"

"I always assumed that it was Tony who got you on the rebound." It was quite possibly the most arrogant thing to ever come out of Jim's mouth, but he didn't care. "I've been thinking, Blair. Okay? For a long time, and you know it or you never would have kissed me that first time."

"Well, yeah. But I didn't realise that you'd got so far along overcoming your virgin scruples, man. I.... Wow." Blair picked up the coffee and sipped at it, held the cup at his mouth like a barrier.

"Virgin scruples?" Jim said, disbelief raising his voice.

"Figure of speech."

"I hope so."

"I... Really? You really mean it?"

Jim stood up, suddenly irritated. Blair wasn't usually this dense. "I'm here. Saying it. Yes, Blair Sandburg, I would like to explore this big gay love that we might have going, and yes, you were right about me and Carolyn being wrong for each other, and what the fuck do I have to do? Crawl?" Jim pulled off his shirt, exasperated enough to make a grandly obvious gesture, and stood there, half-naked in the little kitchen. "Or will this do?"

Blair stared up at him with a totally shell-shocked expression. The moment turned in slow revolution, and as Blair still said nothing, Jim picked up the discarded shirt in humiliated disgust. "Christ, Chief. You're usually a lot faster at telling me when I've just made a damn fool of myself."

This galvanised Blair into action. "No, no." He leapt up from his chair and skittered around the table to grab Jim's shoulders. "The only person who's made a fool of themselves is me. I..." Blair's gaze went to his hands on Jim's skin. "You can do this." His face turned predatory. "Which means I can do this?" His hands, his warm, broad hands slid in an arc across Jim's chest, palms resting on the nipples, the tips of his fingers pressed lightly against Jim's sternum. Jim rested one hand across the back of Blair's, and held it there. He could do this, and there was one thing in particular that he absolutely should do. He lowered his head, and kissed Blair.

Kissing wasn't so very different - it was still mouths and tongues, but Blair's hairy, flat-planed body was something new, especially given that Jim suspected that they weren't going to stop at kissing. Blair's hands took enthusiastic advantage of Jim's shirtless condition, and that felt good; but Jim was aware of the size and strength of the hands that spread hot across his skin.

Blair drew back. "You okay?"

Jim looked into Blair's face, which was alight with hunger and happiness, and a dawning anxiety.

"Yeah. But be gentle with me, huh?" It wasn't completely a joke and they both knew it, but Blair sniggered and rested his forehead against Jim's shoulder.

Blair's hands settled at Jim's waist, one hand pressed into the small of his back. "I can do that," Blair said, lifting his head. "How about we take this party into the bedroom."

"I can do that," Jim parroted, feeling his own smile broaden at Blair's grin.

"Come on, then. You know the way." Blair led anyway, gesturing Jim into his room with a flourish, shutting the door and shucking his robe in one uninterrupted motion.

Jim stared.

Blair was bravado incarnate. "This is it, Jim," he said, gesturing like 'it' was the holy grail or the Hope diamond.

Wordless, Jim held out a hand and received an armful of warm, naked Blair. That was better. It was easier to feel than to look right now, especially as Blair began placing gently fervent kisses along the line of his collar bone. Jim let his hands run along Blair's back, feeling the completely masculine mass of muscle under the skin, and knew a deep relief, because he cared only so far as it meant that it was Blair Sandburg he was touching.

"What do you want to do, man? Because there is like, a whole menu that I plan on working through with you."

"I bet," Jim said, one hand cupping Blair's nape under the damp hair, and feeling stupidly at a loss. All the options of sex suddenly had brand new features, such as the cock that was rising hard and rosy red at Blair's groin.

"And speaking of menus," Blair said, "sit down." He pushed Jim down to sit on the edge of his bed. "Oh, yeah, sit _down_ ," he murmured, and sank to his knees in front of Jim. "I have a recommendation," he said impishly.

"Yeah, I have one, too. Let me get these pants off." Sitting was not comfortable right now.

"Excellent plan. Absolutely excellent," Blair said, and undid the button, undid the zip, pulled Jim's chinos down and cast them aside, while Jim sat on the edge of the bed, on the edge of his seat, waiting for what he knew was coming - Blair's mouth. Blair's mouth, closing over Jim's cock like it was the best thing that Blair had ever known.

Jim made an inarticulate noise and tried not to shut his eyes. Blair deserved Jim watching this, watching his best friend go down on him with a single-minded concentration that Jim got off on nearly as much as the physical sensation. He always had got off on that at one level, got off on knowing that Blair cared, that Blair thought Jim was worth his time. That Blair loved him.

"Blair. I'm going to come." Blair lifted one hand into the air, thumb and finger circled in an 'okay' sign, and kept right on with what he was doing, which was blowing Jim along an incoherent torrent of pleasure. Jim, propped on his arms, was trembling with the tension and the need until finally there was an end to it, and Jim took a deep breath, and looked at Blair, who was kneeling at his feet looking immensely pleased with himself.

"You liked?"

Jim leaned forward and pulled Blair close. "I liked. Like all that moaning didn't give it away, you cock-sure little shit."

"I always knew you'd be the romantic type," Blair said, one hand firmly tracing the line of a pectoral muscle. Jim looked down at Blair' still hard cock, and faced a sudden surge of sensation in his chest, like an unexpected swell under a boat. Blair's hand rested on his shoulder, and one eyebrow lifted.

Jim fumbled with some words. "I... Uh. What do _you_ want? Because, the terrain - it looks great but it's not quite what I'm used to, but..."

"Sit up on the bed, man. Snug up against the wall."

"You have a plan, do you?" Relief, and embarrassment at sounding like such a putz, warmed Jim's face.

"I always have a plan. Back up." Jim followed instructions. "Spread your legs." They were challenging words in the circumstances, but given that Jim was firmly planted on his ass he decided to go with the flow and see what happened.

What happened was that Blair clambered onto the bed, his hard-on leading the way, to sit with his back to Jim's chest, settling back against Jim with a sigh like a man easing his way into a hot bath. "Oh, yeah," he said, in happy satisfaction. It confused Jim. They hadn't done anything yet, but there was no denying the pleasure in Blair's voice.

"Sandburg? I'm assuming that you want me to do something about this?" Jim reached around and put his hand on Blair's cock.

Blair hissed. "Yeah, I want. But this.... this is something that I've dreamed about for a long time, Jim. Let me have a moment."

Jim shook his head, and then kissed Blair's temple. "You're a strange man, Chief. But I guess I can let you use me for a cushion if it makes you happy." His hand lay lightly palmed against the warmth and hardness of Blair's cock, and his skin buzzed pleasantly with Blair's weight against him.

"Okay." Blair's voice was business-like all of a sudden. He moved, rolling off to the side to search inside a drawer. "Got myself comfortable and then realised that I'd forgotten an essential." He brandished a tube of K-Y, and then knelt in front of Jim and squeezed some of it into his hand. "Think you can jerk me off? Remember the basic motions?" His words teased, but there was something yearning about his face that made Jim lean forward for a slightly awkward, off-balance kiss.

"Yeah, I think I remember the technique."

Blair settled against Jim with a repeat of that pleased sigh, his head resting on Jim's left shoulder. He grinned. "What are you waiting for?"

It was strange, holding on to the heat and strength of an erect cock but not feeling anything except the sensations against his palm. "What do you like?" Jim whispered. "Is this okay?"

Blair arched against him, and guided the stroke of Jim's hand with his own hand. "Yeah, like that. Oh. God..." Blair's head pressed hard into Jim's shoulder, leaned into Jim's jaw and cheek. Jim shut his eyes, and concentrated on the feel of Blair's body against him, the smell of sex and something that was maybe happiness, because that was how smelling it made him feel. Blair was into it now, his breath harsh in Jim's ear, his fingers digging into Jim's legs as Blair held on, and then rode out the spasms of climax, until he stilled. Jim rested his hand over Blair's cock, unsure of himself again, and desperately wanting something to wipe the semen that smeared his hand. Blair had apparently lost the power of speech, and Jim eventually decided to just sacrifice the sheets, before he wrapped his arms around Blair.

"Oh. My. God," Blair said softly.

"Good enough for a beginner?" Jim asked.

Blair waved his hand, like a conductor requesting something from the orchestra. "You're a keeper."

"Good news."

Blair's crossed his arms over his chest and took a hold of Jim's arms, his head nuzzling into Jim's now instead of pressing in frantic demand. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay, Sandburg."

"I'm just - I'm having a moment here, Jim. Because, I'm half expecting to wake up and find out this was all a dream."

"It's not a dream."

Blair's shifted slightly, the better to look at Jim. "You're sure?"

Jim felt a really big grin stretch his face. "Yeah. And I can prove it."

"You can, huh?"

Jim delivered his proof - one that was definitive and inarguable. "Yeah. We need to change the sheets. This bed reeks. Seriously."

Blair's head tilted to let out a full-throated laugh that shook them both. When he was quiet again, he said, "You're right. I am totally awake, totally not dreaming." He got off the bed, and stood there, staring down at Jim like he still wasn't convinced. "Sheets. Oh, man."

Then he leaned over Jim, and kissed him again.

"Maybe I'm being pushy..."

Jim lifted his eyebrows. "You? Surely not."

"Has it ever occurred to you that two can live as cheaply as one? Especially if they share accommodation? Living space? One bed?" Blair's face was hopeful, and slightly smug. Jim always did have a weird soft spot for smug on Blair.

"It's a new idea, Chief. But I guess I could be brought round."


End file.
